


On the Lazaret.

by corrupt_vault



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Gen, Heavy Angst, Mild Blood, Prompt Fic, Red Plague (The Arcana), The Arcana (Visual Novel) Spoilers, The Lazaret (The Arcana), This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, this is oddly descriptive oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupt_vault/pseuds/corrupt_vault
Summary: Asra kneels on the sands surrounding the Lazaret, fingers cold and bloodied, caked in dirt. Smoke coils in the air, in his lungs, burns his eyes. It smells like death, like blood. Like sickness.And worst of all, she's gone.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra & Faust (The Arcana)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	On the Lazaret.

**Author's Note:**

> This is, admittedly, not my highest quality work. It's a quick edit of an old prompt I was given (hence why it's fairly short), but I decided to post it here. Please keep the tags in mind and click off if you haven't gotten very far into the game!  
> The prompt was  
> \- Destroy yourself and start again.  
> I wasn't sure where to take the prompt, honestly. I didn't want to get too carried away.
> 
> Buuutttt, my ex-friend gave me Asra for it... so... yeah. Let's get some angsty Asra up in this bitch! Enjoy the angst.

Over time, he lost count of the number of months that had passed, lost in his thoughts and regrets. Months, he knew, since he had last heard the sweet and familiar ring of her voice. Months since he had left her alone, rage burning in his veins as he recalled that scornful day. Pain seeping into his heart, lingering on the sharp feeling, the cramped feeling in his lungs as he breathed in another coil of smoke.

His body ached, worn down by the hours spent on the sand, throat raw and coarse from violent sobs and agonized screams. Heart open, waiting to be enveloped by a pair of familiar and loving arms- loving arms that would never come. Waiting for some charitable stranger to pass by and sew him back together. To save him from his countless mistakes, mistakes he yearned to take back.

Sun-kissed hands clutched desperately at the sand beneath them, dry and cold against his calloused and bleeding fingertips. Time passed too quickly across the horizon- how long had he spent digging in the harsh sands? Against the sharp, jagged rocks? Did he know where he was looking- what was he looking for?

Ashes curled in the air, blown across the sand, nestled into the ocean. She was _gone._ He hadn’t spared her a proper goodbye, their final moments tainted by his hatred and concern- he wanted her safe. That was all he could ever ask for- he pleaded for her safety. Countless, sleepless nights, wasted on unheard prayers. Pleas to keep her alive- safe from the ravenous demon known as the Red Plague.

Asra had failed her for the final time. His stoic bravery had faltered, eventually dispersing into a shield of glass. _Useless,_ and easily shattered. His greatest fears upon returning to Vesuvia had all crashed down on him within moments of setting foot on the desolate shore of the Lazaret. He shuddered against the chilling wind, sinking down until he sat on his calves, and closing his eyes.

Smoke coiled around his lungs like a noose, burning his raw throat, stinging in his eyes. He coughed, dismissing the metallic taste of blood at the back of his throat- simply swallowing it down as if it weren’t there. As if he weren’t sitting next to the waves, keen eyes focusing and unfocusing on his surroundings. Sitting in place against the setting sun, headache pounding at his skull.

Asra could not bear to think of her. Her kind smile, always warm and welcoming to whoever she met, no matter what kind of person they were. Her considerate heart, desperate to help those in need whenever the opportunity arrived- that was how she had chosen to stay. Too blinded by her desire to aid those who were ill- until the sickness consumed her as well, just as it had done with countless Vesuvians.

He rubbed a dirty hand over his tender face- cheeks stained with tears, a light pink dusting across them from being rubbed and overworked. Cool waves licked the rocks, nearing the edge of where he sat, flicks of water rolling off and spraying him lightly. He longed to be on the Vesuvian docks, laughter building in his chest as she told him a joke or a story. Anything she thought would brighten his day after a long journey.

Instead, he ran. He ran far from Vesuvia, as far as he could go, looking over his shoulder only once it became too late. _And now she’s gone._ As the water rolled in once more, he caught a glimpse at his reflection, deteriorated by the hours spent along the shoreline. His hair has become an unruly mess, white curls knotted together and roused from the lost hours spent tugging and ripping them out. Purple eyes, outlined by rings of red.

The air turned sickeningly sweet, hovering over his head like a halo. It smelled _sick_ , putrid like vomit. Rotten, burning flesh. His stomach lurched, and he fought back the urge to gag. The pain in his chest increased to an unbearable high, burning his lungs, spreading through his veins like ice. His body quivered under the feeling, muscular arms wrapping around his torso in an attempt to ground himself.

His eyes focused away from the water, gazing down at the state of himself. Pants ripped at the knee, coated in a thin veil of sand while his knees remained bloodied, as if cut by the jagged rocks. The heels of his boots, worn and dirtied by the hours spent pacing the shoreline, bouncing in and out of the water. 

Cold scales eased up his back, coiling around his shoulders, sticking her head out from under his scarf. The feeling eased his pounding body, planting his feet in the ground and keeping him close to reality. Holding him in place, allowing him to feel some sense of content. _“Asra?”_ The serpent whispered, tilting her little head in curiosity. Her tongue flicked against his neck, further improving his comfort.

He still had Faust- the greatest news he had heard all day. The only thing that could try and ease his pain. The magician sniffled, shakily lifting a hand for her to latch herself onto. Faust flicked his fingers, before slithering across the expanse of his shoulder blades, gliding around before latching herself to his forearm. He regarded her fondly, smiling at the familiar feeling. His thumb glided across her scales.

Her red eyes met his, searching his face for some sort of conclusion- some answer to his sorrows, as if she didn’t understand just yet. And yet, her eyes held a familial glow- friendly, warm, a welcome contrast to the dark and unwelcoming sands of the Lazaret. His heart ached, free hand rising and brushing his hair from his face. Asra understood what sort of state he was in, his fingers lacing through his hair with contempt.

Part of him begged to continue, itching for his nimble fingers to wrap around his hair and tug- rip it straight from his scalp. It was a darkness, whispering little things in his ear, lingering until he would inevitably give in. To drag himself down into the same pit where his apprentice lay, nothing more than ash and bone. Waste beneath the surface of the sand- she didn’t deserve to be there. No one deserved that fate.

He tore his eyes from the sand, studying the spire of smoke and ash that shrouded the Lazaret, coating everything in a thin veil of ash. His fingers twitched, nails of his free hand clawing at his thigh as it rested on it. Again, an act of his dark nothings- a wish to peel his skin off, to slowly bleed himself dry. To join his apprentice where she didn’t belong, and take her place in her stead.

He could sew his mouth shut, prevent himself from ever ushering her name again. He wanted her name to be remembered with grace, not the darkness that clouded his thoughts. Asra shook his head slowly, frowning down at his familiar. Faust watched him warily, tilting her head once more. “ _Friend?_ ” She asked, flicking her tongue out curiously. The word- the implications behind the word, sunk heavily into his skin.

His apprentice was her friend- she was his friend as well… how could he forgive himself for what he had done? Would Faust forgive him for leaving? For abandoning the one he loved? “She’s not coming home, Faust..” He whispered, his voice barely a whisper and raspy. He quivered on the statement, the wind surrounding him growing cold to the touch as the sun continued to lower itself from the sky.

It had taken him so long to understand- so long to come to terms with what he had indirectly caused. Fresh tears pricked his bloodshot eyes, biting the cold air that swirled around him, blurring his eyes. “ _Gone?_ ” Faust pipped, laying her head down on his palm. Asra shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. “Yes… gone, Faust. She’s gone. We’ll have to wait for her…” He muttered, closing his eyes, allowing the tears to flow.

How long would he have to spend waiting, hoping for a chance to redeem himself? What would he have to do to get her back? “ _Wait?”_ Faust tilted her head a little more, almost turning it completely upside down. Asra offered a bitter smile, turning his head up to the sky, taking in a deep breath of the smoke that enveloped him. “We’ll save her, Faust. Just wait…”


End file.
